Bring It On - Kira Sinclair Page 0,38

his mouth water.

Lena dropped to her knees in front of the table, staring in wonder at the spread before her. Looking over her shoulder at the woman standing at the entrance to the tent, she said, “Marcy, you didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

“Yes, I did. The shot has to be perfect. I want to feature it in a two-page spread.”

Some of the wonder disappeared from Lena’s eyes and Colt wanted to admonish Marcy for ruining the moment for her.

Apparently realizing what she’d just done, Marcy took a step forward, reaching out to Lena. “I’m sorry, that didn’t come out the way I meant it to. I didn’t do this just for you, but I do want you to enjoy it. I’ve seen some of the preliminary pictures. Trust me, you’ve earned it. They’re amazing and people will be flocking to Escape in no time because of them. I owe you.”

Lena smiled up at the other woman. “Well, this is certainly a great way to start. This is wonderful, Marcy. You’ve thought of everything.”

Even double-layering a soft rug across the bottom of the tent so that neither of them would end the night rolling around in the sand. For that, Colt was eternally grateful.

“I try.” Marcy’s cheeks flushed with satisfaction. “I’m going to let Mikhail get to work. He has instructions to leave you alone once he’s got what he needs.”

Colt dropped to the pillows on the opposite side of the table thinking about how perfect this was and hoping Mikhail would finish quickly.

Mikhail entered as Marcy left. He surveyed them both, asked Lena to angle her legs differently and positioned Colt’s shoulders more squarely toward the camera. But on the whole, he seemed satisfied with the scene.

Colt looked down at the food and realized for the first time that there weren’t any utensils. Everything on the table was designed to be eaten with their hands. Marcy really had thought of everything.

Shaking his head in awe, Colt reached for a morsel of something and held it out toward Lena. She paused for a second, reaching for her own bite, but instead leaned against the table and opened her mouth. She sucked the food from his hand, her pink tongue licking across the underside of his fingers. His eyes narrowed as a spike of need stabbed straight through him.

Picking up a shrimp, he reached for her hand, closed her fingers around it and brought it up to his own lips. Two could play that game. He relished the way her eyes flashed as his tongue lapped the sauce from her fingers. He practically swallowed the thing whole, grateful it was small, so that he could chase a drop as it slipped down her wrist.

“So good,” he breathed against her skin. He licked across the sensitive veins there, enjoying the way her fingers curled and her pulse jumped.

In the background, Colt could hear the whir of the shutter and the click of the button as Mikhail caught shot after shot. He ignored the other man, instead focusing solely on Lena and building the tension and desire between them.

He slipped around the corner of the table, moving closer to her. She was up on her knees, leaning toward him, waiting for him to feed her something else.

He picked up a pastry shell filled with a spiced rice mixture. Tipping it to her mouth, he waited for her to take a bite. The crunch of the broken shell echoed through the space, but his eyes were drawn to the curve of her neckline and the dark hollow between her breasts. A few grains of rice had slipped free, rolling down her skin to disappear.

Colt leaned forward, ready to dive in after them but Mikhail’s loud throat-clearing stopped him. Instead, Lena wiggled her body and dress till the stray grains fell free. He had to admit watching her gyration was almost as good as retrieving them himself.

They fed each other, drank sweet wine from crystal flutes and laughed at the mess they both made of the beautiful meal. Their fingers grazed, their bodies touched and while they started out on opposite sides of the table Lena was soon practically sitting in Colt’s lap.

Colt wasn’t sure when Mikhail left. He was aware of the man’s departure in some foggy corner of his mind because at that moment he’d been freed to do everything that he wanted, no longer obligated to hold back in deference to the audience or the lens. When he’d left, Mikhail